THE DOLOROUS BLADE 

Being A Brief Account of the Adventures of 

that good Knight of the Round Table 

Sir Baun, called '*Le Savage" 

Done into Rhyme hy 

SAMUEL DONALD NEWTON 




Class _ ^S3s:^J7 

Book *-^Z; 



Gopyii^htN^ 



^^-/ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE DOLOROUS BLADE 

BEING A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF 

THAT GOOD KNIGHT OF THE 

ROUND TABLE 

SIR BALIN, CALLED " LE SAVAGE" 

DONE INTO RHYME BY 

SAMUEL DONALD NEWTON 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

1907 



Copyright igo6 by S. D. Newton 



All Rights Reserved 



LIBBARY of eONSRESs' 
Two Copies Received 

V-, Copyrl^nt Entry 
CUSS A XXc, No. 
«OPY B. 



■Tg-a,r^ i 



The Gorham Press, Boston 



TO M. W. G. 

I would I had some rhyme, Sweet, fit to grace 
Those magick letters shadowing thy name 
Which I — ^too bold — have ventured here to place 
Upon my book: our book; for now, fair dame, 
Thou art at last my partner ('tis a shame 
'Twere not more worthy) and an lovest me 
Thou'lt so continue, for, than all the fame 
Parnassus holds, 'twere sweeter if it be 
That thou canst smile on this I dedicate to thee. 



THE DOLOROUS BLADE 

I 

Anon, it came to pass that at the court 
Appeared a damsel, wondrous fair, who wore 
About her waist (indeed it were no sport 
To be accoutred thus, and passing sore 
It burdened her) a belt from which she bore 
A lordly sword, encrusted thick with gold 
And jewels bright, of which she would implore 
Some knight to her relieve, if one so bold 
Were found who from that shieve could draw the 
blade so cold. 



II 



** But he must be a knight of guileless name," 
Declared the maid, * * None other need assay — 
'Twere no avail — past many halls I came 
But nowhere found the knight (alas, the day!) 
Could draw this brand." King Arthur cried 

straightway 
" 'Tis well, for many knights of marlous worth 
Here live, and at this court where I hold sway 
One must be found, if such there be on earth 
Who can remove this grievous weight from round 

thy girth!" 



Ill 



He said: then on the hilt he placed his hand 
And gave a mighty pull — alas, in vain! 
And after him all barons of the land 
Each vainly strove; but not a knight could gain 
The sword, until the w^eary maid was fain 
Seek other courts: at last Sir Balin tried 
(The meanest of all knights, who bore the stain 
Of being pris'ner:) see the blade now glide 
Quickly from out the shieve when he his hand 
applied. 



IV 



Much marvel had the king and all the court 

That one so lowly knight should have achieved 

When all other had failed (for 'tis no tort 

To wear coarse garments if the heart hath cleaved 

E'er to the good). Straightway the king reprieved 

Sir Balin's durance, saying they did ill 

Who wronged so true a knight: but some were 

grieved 
At his preferment, and men's ears would fill 
With stories that he drew the sword by witchcraft's 

will! 



*»* 



Sir Balin, when he looked upon the blade, 

Was wondrous pleased therewith, and would have 

ta'en 
The scabbard too, an that he could; the maid, 
Howe'er, held to't and straightway did complain, 
** Give up the sword:" but Balin said again, 

Nay, that I will not, till in open fight 
One wins it from me, or that I am slain; 
And wield I ever will this sword with might 
To undo evil and to repossess the right!" 



VI 



The maid replied: ** 'Twere better not, sir knight, 
For from this steel, an that you it withhold, 
Much ill is fated, since in grievous plight 
'Twill bathe your nearest friend (for you're too 

bold) 
In his own life-blood : and it hath been told 
That he the stroke most dolorous ever known 
Must strike, who wields this blade: and ere hath 

rolled 
One year from now his life will have been blown 
Into the vast unseen: give back the sword I own!" 



VII 



But Balin answered only "I have said," 
And strode from Camelot: I will not stay 
To tell how that the king turned flaming red 
That one his knight should rush so rude away 
Nor how he grieved at what the maid did say; 
Nor will I stop to hear the lying tale 
How Balin slew a lady fair that day 
(Averring witchcraft:) for we must not fail 
To follow quick the knight as he his path may 
scale. 



VIII 

Now, this Sir Balin was but rudely found, 
His chain-mail rusty and his target lost. 
No banneret above him and the sound 
Of his poor charger's jaded footsteps crossed 
The ear but meanly: no proud feather tossed 
Upon his helm, which battered was with flaw; 
Yet in his gauntlet was the blade embossed, 
The magic sword which he alone could draw: 
His saddle held a spirit bound by no weak law! 



IX 



" Sir Balin le Savage, now dress thyself: 

'Tis Lanceor of Ireland calleth thee, 

Fresh from King Arthur's court, where thou by 

pelf 
Won that fair sword which in thy hand I see 
And with it slew a damsel guiltily 
To thy soul's hurt; then left the court alone. 
Without the king's consent, which all agree 
Is treachery vile, whereat the king makes moan 
And hath sent me, his knight, who call his cause 

mine own!" 



X 



Sir Balin turned: a glittering sight he saw; 

A knight in brightest armor habited 

On which the sun lay dazzling: not a flaw 

In gold or silver plate there was; instead 

A mirrored surface: on a steed well bred, 

Of purest white, whose trappings swept the ground, 

He pranced, and as he nearer drew the dread 

Device upon his lordly shield was found, 

The badge of Erin, golden harp of mellow sound! 



XI 



" Thou liest bravely, prince!" Sir Balin cried; 

" I slew no damsel in King Arthur's halls; 

Here on my troth as knight it is denied; 

Nor gained I this keen sword by pelf; those walls, 

If they could speak, despite the grievous falls 

Of mighty knights before me, would allow 

I won it fairly; this my spirit palls 

At treacherous deed, and rightly knowest thou 

I left King Arthur under leave: have at thee now!" 



Xll 



They met together in the middle plain 
With mighty clash of arms: the good yew lance 
That Balin bore the other's shield did gain 
And laid him low, but Lanceor's just did glance 
The tip of Balin's helm, as it did dance 
Before his eyes, and left him whole; with speed 
Leaped Balin from the saddle and askance 
He flashed the dolorous blade: there was no need, 
For Lanceor's spirit with a grievous wound did 
bleed. 



XIII 

Anon, as Balin mourned that he should be 
The death of this so good a lord and knight 
And pondered if this were the stroke that he 
Were doomed to strike when first that blade he 

dight, 
There came a damsel, passing fair to sight. 
With floating locks unkempt and streaming eyes. 
Her garments disarrayed, her figure slight 
Trembling with grief; herself upon the prize 
Flinging where now her noble lord and lover dies! 



XIV 

Then quickly she upstarted, in her hand 

Sir Lanceor's bright sword, which Bahn tried 

To take from her anon, but she the brand 

Clung to the closer and his suit denied 

Till he was fain desist for that she cried 

As though in pain: then she the falchion set. 

The hilt stuck fast i' the earth (again she sighed. 

While Balin stood aghast) and last she let 

Her soul depart, as, falling, she the cold steel met! 



XV 



Much moan made Balin o'er the untimely fate 
Of this fair damsel and this noble lord 
Who loved so dearly other and who wait 
Together now before the door which barred 
The realms of Paradise : him seemed 'twere hard 
That such a mournful venture should be first 
To meet his late-recovered arms, ill-starred. 
And well he knew now till he durst 
Some noblest deed, his name at Arthur's court 
were curst. 



XVI 

Anon, as thus he mourned, he was made ware 
Of MerHn, the great wizard, who would sore 
Upbraid him for the mischance happened there 
Whereby so fair a maid was bathed i' the gore 
Of her own heart, which mightily he swore 
Sir Balin should have stopped: then thus he spoke: 
** Curst be this spot, for here a fearful score 
Wiil 'tween the two best knights on earth be broke 
(Yet neither shall draw blood from other's heart 
of oak!) 



XVII 

Be this spot known the vilest under heaven, 
For here the Dolorous Blade in anger first 
By man on man was drawn, and here were riven 
Two souls from out their bodies; here shall burst 
Full many noble hearts: forever curst 
Be this dread spot! Take up yon sword, sir knight. 
For thou hast need of two such, thou who durst 
The Dolorous Blade so wield: full many a fight 
Thou'lt know, ere that descends on thee the end- 
less night! 



XVIII 

Take up Sir Lanceor's sword, for thou in strife 
Must wound the man most worshipful now known. 
Whereby three realms, in wretchedness all rife. 
Twelve years must mourn, and he, this man, shall 

moan 
Full many years ere that be overgrown 
His hurt: take up the sword, sir knight, for nigh 
Approaches Balan, thy twin brother, blown 
To thee: thy nearest kin; he who did lie 
With thee in cradled infancy: with thee must die!"^ 



XIX 

" A truce to gloomy prophecies, sir seer; 
I trust them not," said Balin, "else would I 
Cause yet another life (to me more dear) 
Expire o' this sword: as did this maiden die, 
I'd follow her, to prove your words a lie: 
Yet trul}^ would I my own brother see!" 
* ' Look up ! " said Merlin, nor could he deny 
That Balan stood there, like as he could be 
To his own self, save that in better harness he. 



XX 

Long stood they thus together, gazing mute 
Each at the other: last, Sir Balan spoke: 
*' Aye, truly heard I that they did transmute 
Your chains to liberty, your bitter yoke 
To victory, in Arthur's halls, the cloak 
Of knighthood giving back, and hasted then 
To greet my brother gladly as he woke 
From his long thralldom, taking among men 
The place his errant knighthood gives him once 
again!" 



XXI 

To whom Sir Balin: " Softly, brother; see, 
Full bitter deeds my first return to arms 
Have crowned: and here is Merlin who on me 
Hath worser things denounced: full of alarms 
He's filled my life; but I will prove his harms 
(God willing) false: yet would I gladly know 
Where I may find, full-coursing o'er his farms, 
In rage defiant, Arthur's bitterest foe: 
To gain his grace, I'd make a giant's blood to 
flow!" 



XXII 

Again spake Merlin: " Him can I supply: 
One hight Rience of Gore, of North-Wales lord, 
A most vile monarch (none can it deny) 
And pagan, who for many years hath warred 
With thrice five kings his vassals, falchion scarred 
Against King Arthur, and who now doth plot 
A quick invasion of the land, ill-starred, 
Unneath 'tis stopped and the leader caught!" 
*' We'll take the venture," cried they, '"gainst this 
man distraught!" 



XXIII 

The great King Arthur sat upon his throne, 
Fair-featured Guenevere close by his side, 
While down the hall in ever widening zone 
Were ranged the lords who at the court abide 
And knights o' the Table Round; when with a 

stride 
Up to the dais, his black lance reversed, 
Approached, grief shaken, trembling with the tide 
Of human woe which all his soul immersed, 
North-Wales' fierce lord, great Arthur's bitterest 

foe and worst. 



XXIV 

Down on the floor he bent his haughty knees 

And 'twixt our king's fair palms his gnarled hands 

In homage passed, while saying it did please 

Two knights who were his victors such commands 

To place on himr two doughty knights: there 

stands 
None in these halls their peers, as he might think, 
Not even Launcelot, whose fame expands 
(He said) with Christendie, and would not shrink 
At any limits, stretching to the earth's last brink! 



XXV 

That he had sixty coursers in his train. 
Well armed and fearless as on earth do ride, 
And was himself a knight (if he could gain 
Aught by such idle boast) whom no ill tide 
Had e'er before o'erwhelmed, but when they vied, 
These sixty with the twain, they scattered were 
And he was bound: and yet these knights did hide 
Their true names from him: one of them howe'er, 
Within each mighty hand a flashing sword did bear 



XXVI 

Which he full nobly wielded and did fight 
On either hand a foe, as though, indeed, 
Two souls he had and each a belted knight 
With perfect purpose, from the other freed. 
A message gave they him, which he should heed 
And now delivered, for it seemed that they 
Offended had, and by some luckless deed, 
Against their king, and therefore far they stray 
Until they're pardoned, for which guerdon now 
they pray! 



XXVII 

King Arthur cried: '* We graciously agree 
This pardon to, their domage be what may, 
For ne'er our royal heart withholds rich fee 
From those who service such as this can pav 
Unto their king: there vacant stand today 
Two seats o' the Table Round, which they must 

fill, 
And that they are not now o' that rank and sway, 
As much I think they are: but I could will 
To know their names and cognizance of herald's 

quill." 



XXVIII 

And Balan heard the summons and his way 
Took to the court, for long the wilderness 
Had been his home: but Balin answered nay, 
For God's deep wildwood (so he did confess) 
Called him afar and he resolved to press 
To greater victories, if there were more 
Ordained for him; yet none, I'm told, the less 
Fair Arthur gained a knight, for he of Gore 
A valiant vassal proved, in bloody fights a score. 



XXIX 

And for six moons erred Balin and he knew 
A thousand knightly deeds of willing aid 
To sorrow-stricken damsels: he o'erthrew 
Ten mighty giants with his dolorous blade 
And seven with the other: well he played 
His part, and soon of lesser knights a train 
Him followed, and with them he did invade 
Far distant parts of Britain, and did gain 
His fill of glory; yet without one honor-stain. 



XXX 

But still, withal, where'er he went, he felt 
A hidden impulse to review the ground 
Where brave Sir Lanceor died and where did melt 
With his the damsel's soul, for that the sound 
Of Merlin's gruesome warning did redound 
Within his brain and drew him from afar. 
As birds come back in springtime to the mound 
Where they had nested erst, or as the star 
Returns each night on darkening of the sun's 
bright car. 



XXXI 

So, after six month's tarrying, he came 

And, lo, a great, flat stone concealed the spot, 

'Neath which had MerHn, by his wiles and flame. 

Reposed the dead; and o'er the stone there fought 

Two doughty knights, whose warfare set at naught 

All fighting else, so fierce it was and wild; 

Yet Balin noted that none blood was brought 

For all the blows that each on other piled 

In weary multitude and wealth unreconciled! 



XXXII 

"Why strive ye, knights?" cried Bahn, as he 

neared 
The scene of combat, but none answer they 
Save more redoubled blows: then Balin feared, 
For true came Merlin's prophesy that day 
And Balin knew full well there were no way 
But that the rest must follow: still there fell 
The feast of blows, nor could he force a stay 
Till that they both sank back, their mighty swell 
Of fierceness spent, and yet the bards no victory 

tell. 



XXXIII 

Then off came helmets : what is this they saw ? 
'Twas Launcelot and Tristram Lyoness, 
The two best knights of Christendie, the awe 
Of Moors, who each for other might confess 
Such love as all love otherwise were less, 
Save for their lady-queens; but each was clad 
In stranger cognizance and unwont dress, 
So that they knew not other, but had bade 
Defiance bold, as ever 'twixt strange knights is had. 



XXXIV 

These knights craved Balin stay and take good 

cheer, 
For they had heard his prowess whom all own 
As third in true and chivalrous career, 
Next to themselves, and they would fain have 

known 
Him better, but he begged to be alone. 
For that the sayings of the wizard still 
Rang in his ears, and he would pray the Throne 
Whereon's the King of kings to steel his will 
Ere that the time were come those sayings to fulfil. 



XXXV 

So Balin prayed and after slowly passed 
Upon his way; dire were his thoughts and strange, 
Like to Childe Roland's when he found at last 
The darktower road: one knight alone might range 
With him; the bearded Heleus, (a change 
From all the pompous, almost kingly train 
Was wont to follow him o'er field and grange, 
His vassals all. ) Him, too. Sir Balin fain 
Would have dismissed, but that he sorely begged 
remain. 



XXXVI 

'Twas then, as passed these knights o'er moor and 

field 
In silence (for that Balin's soul was dumb 
With heavy musings) one behind cried " Yield!" 
And at the word his horse's clatterings come 
With quick resounding: Helens' frame grew numb 
With fear uncanny, as were ghost anigh. 
But Balin turned and siezed his lance aplumb, 
And dressed himself; yet could he naught descry 
To cause alarm, though still the clashing hoof- 
beats fly! 



XXXVII 

Then Heleus fell, sore-pierced to the heart 
And from the rear, as by a caitiff lance 
Held by some dastard, daring not the part 
Of honest knight, who never strikes askance 
(As churls are fain!) yet still to Balin's glance 
None foe appeared: for why ? A magic cloak 
He wore, which him with darkness did enhance 
And hid from view: Sir Balin dealt a stroke 
Deep with the Dolorous Blade, though naught its 
passage broke! 



XXXVIII 

But when he struck again, would not await 

The recreant such another, but did fly 

Far off the field, still in his darkened state 

Of cowardice. Sir Balin loud did cry: 

" Full vengeance deal thou, vengeance, Lord on 

high! 
Against this demon who thus foully takes 
Another's life in combat false : may I 
The instrument the great Creator makes 
To right this domage be: such form mine office 

takes!" 



XXXIX 

And Garlon heard (for so the fiend was called, 
Or man with fiendish sprite, who Heleus broke,) 
And 'neath his caitiff veil which him enthralled 
He shook like aspen leaf; but one word, spoke 
Within Sir Balin's breast, (" 'Tis well!") awoke 
Rejoicings there: still, many times anon 
The knight and fiend encountered and the yoke 
Of death full many comrade squires must don 
Ere rich-deserved revenge might be by Balin won. 



XL 



There was a boy, half risen to man's years, 
And yet more girl than boy, for woman's art 
Alone had kept him, chased away his fears 
And cherished him as prompts a woman's heart: 
His aspect thus; the hair in midst y-part 
O'er's forehead framed his dimpled cheeks in curls, 
Hung round his shoulders, drooping soft and 

smart 
Down to a waist trim yet as any girl's, 
A waist enroped round with dreamy, deep-sea 

pearls; 



XLI 

His garments, sheer and light, in ample folds, 
Shaped like a maid's, for exercise unfit. 
Approached his ivory ankles (whose fair molds 
Seemed formed for dancing) and therethrough 

might flit 
Visions of graceful limbs, well-formed and knit, 
Revealed, yet hidden : his fair face above, 
As yet unmarked with beard, with frankness lit, 
Showed truth unmasked, candor, maiden love 
And gentleness to reign in's mind, all else above. 



XLII 

Sir Balin, passing by with princely train 
(His fasting o'er) beheld the lovely boy 
Hard by the roadside, but a look of pain 
Did cloud his face and his fair being cloy, 
For in his hand he held a broken toy; 
A robin, limp and pierced to the heart 
By a sharp arrow, all the lively joy 
Y-spilt and wasted by the feathered dart, 
O'er which the lad made moan and bitter tears 
upstart. 



XLIII 

" What ails the silly bird," bewailed the youth, 

" That it none flutters, as it did anon 

Up in the tree ? Alas, mine heart is ruth 

(It were so happy) now its joy be gone! 

It was so fair a mark to shoot upon 

Mine arrow left my hand ere I had thought: 

I meant no harm, nor thought its orison 

Would so y-stop; what is't mine hand hath 

wrought 
That silent woe hath thus its joyaunce pure dis- 
traught ?" 



XLIV 

"Tis dead!" said Balin. "Dead!" cried 

Galahad: 
" What is't to die; this thing ye call death ? 
Must all it suffer, and must all that's glad 
Thus turn to sorrow?" "So the good Book 

saith," 
Said Balin: " All must render up their breath 
When He us calls, and so our naked souls, 
Bright with our knightly deeds, or sunk aneath 
Our guilty ones, must go where He unrolls 
The scrip of Fate and grace or doom to us out- 
doles!" 



XLV 

All while the youth, fair Galahad, had bent 
Low to the ground his head, but at this speech 
Back threw his erring curls that so had strent 
Around his cheeks; then did his eyes upreach 
To see the speaker; but when through the breach 
Thus made, he saw the panoply so grand 
Arrayed afore him, straight he 'gan beseech 
Kind mercy for his faults, for that the band 
He thought were Seraphim who round the Lord 
do stand 



XLVI 

(So bright were they) and BaHn that Dread One 
None dare name lightly: then, "Oh, God!" 1 

cried: 
" Call me not God," said Balin, "as the sun 
Is brighter than the dark, or as the bride 
Is blither than the widow, by so wide 
A gulph the Master better is than I 
Who am His slave. A belted knight, I ride 
Forth His great Will to do or else to die 
As He may need my service or my life apply!" 



XLVII 

" A knight!" cried Galahad; "and dost thou ride 
O'er earth the wrong to cancel, joy to bring ? 
Art thou such knight ?" " 'Tis so I try," replied 
The other. " Dost thou know our lord the king ? 
Could I be one like thee ? Oh, could I string 
Such falchion from my belt as are thy twain ?" 
"Yea," answered he, "God-willing, that same 

thing 
Thou'lt be eftsoons!" Nor did the child remain 
But " ril ask Mother!" calling, tripped he o'er 

the plain. 



XLVIII 

Sir Balin followed: soon, a stately tower 
Rose o'er the treetops: as the keep they neared 
The wide portcullis fell with grating power 
And in the slowly oping door appeared 
A lady and an one whose long, gray beard 
Pronounced him Merlin, and between the twain 
Smiled little Galahad, whose face, upreared, 
Besought a kiss, got one, besought again. 
Till that the dame must blush and discontent must 
feign. 



XLIX 

That night slept BaHn in the hall, but ere 
He, of his arms undight, had gone to rest 
The wizard Merlin made his side and there 
Warned him in words that near to orders pressed 
How he should act, and thus his charge addressed: 
" Ask not the child; too soon, thy journeys o'er. 
Thou nearest that sad battle when thy breast, 
Pierced by cold steel, shall beat, ah, nevermore. 
Till that the angel's trump shall call thee from 
death's shore!" 



" Ask not the child! His time hath not appeared. 
Nor can the mother spare her one bright flower p?'s 
Yet from her side: but when his prime hath 

neared 
Then shall he be such man as evil's power 
Can never sully: such as in his hour 
Shall ne'er surpassed be in martial feat: 
A maiden knight: and those dark clouds that 

lower 
Around the dolorous stroke thine hand shalt mete 
His faith will scatter and to dolour bring defeat!" 



LI 



So Balin on the morrow thanked the dame 
For her kind welcome and his steps addressed 
Upon his way, although, with eyes aflame 
With childhood's tears, the boy behind him 

pressed 
And begged be taken. Balin, travelling west, 
Again met Garlon and another knight 
By churlish stroke was lost: but Balin, stressed 
By passion, urged his charger day and night, 
Taught by those sounds which Garlon's cloak 

could not enblight 



LII 

On, on, through weary city and through town, 
Through tangled thickets, over grassy plain. 
Past towers and hovels, hills with hazel crown 
And vales with rivers threaded, nor could gain 
One pace the dastard, under murder's bane. 
Upon the true knight, though he could not see. 
Till that, some castle nearing, Garlon fain 
Threw off the cloak of darkness, for that he 
Would seek admittance thereto, from his foe be 
free! 



LIII 

Now there was tourney in King Pellam's court 

And all the knights fro' all the country round 

Engathered were to take their hand i' th' sport, 

Each hoping to be mighty victor found, 

The others vanquished and himself fair crowned; 

So that Sir Balin entered unforbid 

(Unknown as one who Garlon's steps did hound — 

The king's own cousin) and, as others did. 

He to a chamber passed, from all his purpose hid. 



LIV 

There he endight a scarlet festal gown 
With gold embroidered, for the feast in hall 
Was serving, nor had any yet gone down 
Unto the lists; but when they him did call 
To lay his weapon by (for so they all) 
Fro's right the Dolorous Blade unbuckled he, 
But at his left, beneath his outer shawl. 
Kept close the other sword, for that in fee 
He knew not when he'd need such falchion griev- 
ously. 



LV 



Now this King Pellam was a man of worth 

(How foul his cousin were;) of charity 

And worship none were more, for he by birth 

Descent could trace, and by a noble tree. 

Fro' him that Joseph hight of Arim'thee, 

Who owned the tomb where they our Lord did lay 

In distant Judah, and 'twere none but he 

Might first enplant in Apostolic day 

The seed of Christian faith in yon fair British clay. 



LVI 

And he brought there with him the Holy Grail, 
The lance wherewith our Master's side were smote 
And other relics, which he did not fail 
To give his son, whose whole life were devote 
To their safe-keeping: so in time they mote 
Come down to Pellam; who this castle reared 
For their more sure protection, as is wrote 
Fair in his life (oh, that it were besmeared 
With harboring a dastard knight, and foully 
feared!) 



LVII 

An holy castle 'twere, whose flaming arch 
Seemed girt with rainbow hues, whose bastions 

wide 
Did glow with light, e'en as the skies in March 
When fair Aurora from the north doth glide 
Anent the sky: it were as though the pride 
Of new Jerusalem to earth were brought 
And there established, ne'er to be espied 
Save with such reverence as the priests have taught 
Is due to Mother Church, by pious footsteps sought. 



LVIII 

King Pellam, rising in his eastern chair, 
Had scarce begun his welcome when espied 
Base Garlon noble Balin sitting there: 
Then 'fore the court (may ill him e'er betide!) 
Strode he with flaming face to th' farther side 
And dealt with back o's hand an angry blow 
Across Sir Balin's face, who might not bide 
But drew the Irish sword and laid him low 
Dead i' the dust, a fee well earned and long ago. 



LIX 

" Thus to all traitors!" Balin cried and strove, 
With flaming face and trembling lips, the deed 
To the dark, muttering crowd (a savage drove) 
To justify; but Pellam, taking lead, 
Defiance offered him who thus caused bleed 
A foeman in a peaceful house: a pike 
Then siezing(for so wrath 'gainst right would plead) 
He cut the knight, who fain a blow would strike 
But 'gainst a column brake his broadsword, folly- 
like! 



LX 



Thus armless fled Sir Balin from the room 
(Pressed by the king who brandished pike in hand) 
On, ever onward, through the dismal gloom. 
Fro' hall to entrance, through the throne room 

grand, 
'Neath archways mighty, up the stair's wide band. 
Past fifty chambers and then back again. 
O'er barracks where dull yeomen gaping stand; 
'Neath turrets where blunt warders sentry feign. 
Without one stop, yet nowhere could he blade 

attain! 



LXI 

Through all the castle Balin fled, nor would 
The monarch give him rest till that he gained 
A golden door beneath an onyx hood 
Which oping, there he found a lance. Blood- 
stained 
And time-dulled, near a grail round which re- 
mained 
An halo (sacred cup). This lance he took 
His right hand in, although the staff him pained 
As 'twere electric, and it fiercely shook 
Before King Pellam: then the Dolorous Blow he 
strook ! 



LXII 

Sad stroke! Sad cause! That this so holy wood 
Had pierced a Savior's side and caused to flow 
The mingled Blood and water which has stood 
A sign to all who peace and calm would know 
Throughout the ages, with such deadly blow 
In human quarrel now must wielded be! 
Alas! When will that peace 'mongst men below 
Prevail, He taught His saints in Galilee ? 
'Tis for this peace, oh Lord, Thou see'st our bended 
knee! 



LXIII 

Down fell the castle, beam from beam distrent, 
An hundred knights and ladies crushing there 
Aneath the wreckage, through the wicked bent 
Of Garlon slain: but, lo, and angel bare 
That cup and lance aloft till that some fair 
And virtuous life should them regain to men. 
King Pellam lay in swound, but he, the slayer 
Of wicked Garlon, lived and found again. 
Unhurt, his Dolorous Blade and so passed o'er 
the fen. 



LXIV 

Sir Balin left the place of grief, bowed low 
With sorrow: through a weary land he strode 
Where wretched men and raving maids in woe 
Called out to him: " Oh, Balin, see the goad 
Thou'st fitted to our necks!" The very road. 
Now thick with rocks that erst so lovely were. 
Seemed to distrust him and to the abode 
Of weariness him led, and e'en the air 
With sulphurous gas was dark that erst had been 
so fair! 



LXV 

At last Sir Balin at a river ford 
Met with a stranger knight who would the way 
Dispute, and fiercely each to each they scored 
Deep with their steel, until the weary day 
Drew to a close, and so a forced stay 
Came to their tired arms: then, helmets off. 
Each laid him down to die: too long delay: 
Lo, Balan! who a stranger helm did doff 
That he with Balin travel might through Death's 
dark slough! 



LXVI 

And so the Wizard's prophesy came true 
And Balin by his best friend's hand was slain; 
His brother's own: today, a mighty yew 
Grows o'er the grave where each were slowly ta'en 
And laid together; and the yellow grain 
Nods round the spot: oh, shed a bitter tear 
For these two bretheren, stranger, when you gain 
This solemn place, and one short prayer uprear 
That yonder they may know a happier fate than 
here! 



LXVII 

It may hap, friend, thy later years shall be, 
Like Balin's, lost through cold, remorseless fate, 
And that thine hand, unwitting, earn his fee : 
But, come what may, do thou both early, late, 
Portray his spotless life : ne'er be the state 
Of Garlon thine: and harbor not thou ill 
Within thine hall, as did King Pellam great: 
Then, if thy life be short, remember still 
Another, grander life lies 'yond Death's sluggish 
rill. 



MAR 8 1907 



